


The Devil's Son

by AmmyMcKay



Series: Awestruck Tales [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Awesome Crowley, Child Abuse, Gen, Headcanon, Plot Twists, Time Travel, Young Gavin MacLeod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmmyMcKay/pseuds/AmmyMcKay
Summary: Gavin MacLeod grows up and realizes that he didn't know who he really was and who his father really was until after he meets Crowley in the 21st century. Everything gets a bit more complicated when there's time travel involved.





	1. A Boy Named Gavin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is I've been working at this short story for a long time, having it bounce around in my head for awhile. I hope you all enjoy it. It has been a blast to write. There aren't many fics with Gavin as a main character, let alone as a child.

***

Fergus took to drinking after his wife died. And sometimes, he'd get so drunk that he would come home, pass out on the floor, and forget to feed the boy she left him. Gavin had her dark eyes; Fergus loved her eyes. Gavin had her easy, winning smile; Fergus loved her smile.

The young boy, only five years old, stood in the kitchen, dark eyes round as he looked at his father. "Pa?" He squatted and wiped up the vomit from the floor. A dutiful son because when Fergus would wake up, the sun would be too bright and everyone's voice would be too loud, but he'd still be his father. And he'd still ruffle Gavin's unkempt, flea-ridden mop of dark hair and tell him he was a good son.

Life was hard. It was always hard. Gavin was hungry more often than not. He was small for his age. His father was trying to teach him the tailor's trade, but Gavin never was good at it. Fergus kept telling his boy that it was in MacLeod blood to be a tailor. Often, during these lessons, there was just enough whisky in Fergus to make his face ruddy and his laugh free.

Fergus was the village drunk and his work as a tailor suffered for it. His garden suffered. His home suffered. Nothing was right anymore, but Gavin knew that his father loved him. Even if the roof needed patched up and the door stopped latching so they had to prop it shut with a chair so the wind couldn't blow in the chill. Even when the damp rotted the wood inside because the rain kept getting in, Gavin knew his father loved him.

\---

Within a year, Fergus brought home a man that he drank with in the tavern.

"This is a friend of mine, Gavin. He has the best whisky in town," Fergus said to his son one day. "His name is Crowley." He introduced a thin man, with messy, dark hair. The man waved to the young boy. "He needs a place to stay," the father explained to his son.

Gavin was shy and hung back, not wanting to come up to the man.

Crowley didn't have a single thing to his name, but had a pocketful of strange coins and wore strange clothes. He smiled to Gavin and knelt down so he could see the boy eye to eye. Dark eyes, like his. He explained quietly, "I am going to stay here awhile and fix the house. It's falling apart, isn't it?"

Gavin nodded.

Crowley laughed and put his hands on Gavin's shoulders. "Your father tells me all about you. What a good son you are."

\---

True to his word, Crowley worked around the house. It left Gavin to have a bit more freedom and to play outside, but he was always drawn to the mysterious stranger who was apparently his father's friend.

Gavin followed after Crowley who showed him how to repair the house. He taught him how to split wood. He showed him how to work and lay stone and sharpen knives and grow plant. He taught him how to get the most out of the old, bitter-tempered horse they had. And how to fish. And the secrets of bartering. And their cold, broken, neglected house started to feel like a well-kept home.

As Crowley was teaching Gavin about how best to weed a growing garden, the boy thought about why he had come. Obviously he was a foreigner with his strange clothes and money, but he spoke their language fluently and without an accent. He seemed to know everything there was to know. Both about being a tailor (which he had no real skill in) and about things like being handy and how to cook and he was the smartest man that Gavin knew.

"Where did you learn all of this?" Gavin asked Crowley.

"Hmmm, someone taught me. Just as I'm teaching you..." He looked up at the sky.

"Crowley?"

"Do you believe in God, Gavin?" Crowley asked suddenly.

"Yes, of course."

"How about the Devil?"

Gavin was reluctant to answer. He thought about it. Perhaps it was the devil who took his mother away. Perhaps the Devil was the reason that his father was always drunk. Or that the house was falling apart, but did that mean it was God or the Devil who let Crowley into their lives? Gavin merely shrugged for an answer.

Crowley laughed. "Never mind all that. Look at this." He held the young boy by the shoulders and turned him around to show the small garden that they had been working on all season. "The plants are filling out, turning into something. It's life. And it's  _ your  _ miracle that brought this. Your own two hands. You can change the world if you wanted. Don't forget it like I forgot it, Gavin."

Gavin looked at the plants, coming up in rows. He tilted his head at Crowley's words, but heard the desperation in his voice, as if what he was saying was the most important thing in the world. He didn't know what to make of it, but the young boy promised, "I won't forget, Crowley."

\---

Fergus was making Crowley a new shirt after he ripped one of his own. He sat at the kitchen table and the man was sewing up a seam between two pieces of fabric. He was an expert tailor and had started his business back up now that Crowley had been helping him reclaim control over his life. The house was in working order. He and the boy were well-fed. Life was good.

Gavin watched his father working. Fergus tried to explain everything he was doing, but Gavin didn't understand it. He was clumsy with the needle and thread. He had trouble working his brain around how cloth behaved.

Gavin kept losing interest.

"Pay attention, boy! It's in your MacLeod blood to be a tailor!" Fergus said as he sipped some beer. He gave Gavin the job of measuring their live-in guest.

As the boy came behind Crowley, he paused. "You have many scars."

After a long pause, Crowley explained. "My own Pa was a terrible man. He beat me to an inch of my life every day and worked me to the bone."

Gavin's eyes widened. He couldn't understand how a father could do that to his own son.

"Your Pa is nothing like that," Crowley said, ruffling Gavin's hair.

\---

Fergus and Crowley sat at the table which Gavin had built. Smoothing a hand over the table, Crowley said, "Isn't this amazing? Gavin helped me with it." He glanced over to the boy, who was washing the plates from the meal Crowley had cooked earlier for the family.

Some Craig was on the table, celebrating the work on the house that had taken a year to complete. The amber liquid seemed to catch all the light in the room and it looked like gold in a glass. "You've taken quite an interest in my son," Fergus said. He was sober enough now. Sober enough to function, but with enough alcohol in him to keep his hands from shaking from withdrawal.

"He's a good boy," Crowley said. "You've raised him well."

Fergus laughed. "This year, it feels like you were raising the boy." He turned to his son. "Gavin! Come here, Gavin!" The boy obediently went to his father, who mussed up the boy's hair and pulled him onto his lap. He kissed his son on the cheek.

Gavin could smell the alcohol on his breath and feel his beard scratching his skin.

"You get some, too!" Fergus pushed his cup towards the boy.

"Really, Pa?"

Fergus nodded.

Gavin held the cup with both hands and sipped the liquid. Immediately, his face went red and he coughed as he felt the burn down his throat and the fire of the Craig making him warm in his chest and in his belly. Fergus took the cup from him and placed it on the table. His boy was still sputtering, eyes glassy, as his father rubbed his back.

Fergus laughed. "He's a man now!"

Crowley clapped and smiled a wide grin. "Wonderful! How do you like the Craig, Gavin?"

The boy coughed. "It burns."

"That's how you know it's good, boy!" Fergus said merrily.

"You should put him to bed soon," Crowley said, rolling the remaining liquid in his cup thoughtfully.

Fergus nodded and then kissed his son. "Off to bed with you."

\---

Gavin had a fishing pole in his hands and so did Crowley next to him. They swung their feet off of the water-worn dock. The Scottish morning made their breath fog. And Crowley seemed quite pleased with himself.

"I can't believe my Pa wants you to move out."

"Well, I think I've fixed things well enough. I did what I set out to do." He smiled as he stared at the dark, murky water below.

"What was it that you set out to do?" Gavin asked.

Crowley pursed his lips in thought. "It's hard to say. My life has become quite strange, if I were to be honest."

"Strange how?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Gavin," Crowley said, gently. "I wish I could stay here forever, but if your Pa wants me out, then that means it's time for me to leave. Your Pa loves you, right?"

"Yes," the boy answered meekly.

"And you love him?"

"Yes."

"Then everything is fine." Crowley smoothed Gavin's hair. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

\---

Crowley walked up to Fergus and Gavin. He leaned down to Gavin first. "Promise me you won't forget the things I've taught you."

Gavin nodded. Crowley put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the coin. It had a horse on it, standing behind a fence, looking out. On the other side was a profile of a man's face. "Here, something to remember me by."

Crowley stood up and looked Fergus in the eye. "And you, Fergus, will take care of your son."

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" Fergus said.

Crowley packed his things and they didn't hear him leave, but he was gone. It was like he and all of his belongings had simply disappeared.

\---

The next two years they kept to their promises, but, after that, as Gavin grew, his father became colder and colder.

Fergus had a bottle of cheap whisky in his hand as he watched Gavin pulling weeds in the garden. The boy's hands were calloused now. He had scars on his back from the times when the drink and the paranoia sent Fergus into a rage. 

\---

Gavin kept trying and trying to please his father. The teenager remembered when his father was kind and loved him. He remembered when his father laughed with him and ruffled his hair and told him he was a good boy. And he remembered the scratch of his beard against his cheek when his father kissed him. He remembered the warmth of his hug.

"Pa?" Gavin asked his father one day. "What was Ma like?"

Fergus's lip twitched and he took a swig of his drink. He looked down at Gavin with red-rimmed eyes. "She was a cheat and a liar. She slept with other men and died, leaving me with her bastard son. Making me raise  _ you.  _ "

Gavin knew of the rumors that circulated town. That the strange man, Crowley, who had lived with them a year was his true father. It was because as Gavin grew, he looked more and more like Crowley.

\---

"I hate my life. It's your fault, Gavin!" Fergus said to his son after he finished beating him. He left the teenager alone on the floor. It took him several minutes before he mustered up the strength to get up.

Gavin whimpered as he moved gingerly; the fresh wounds on his back were tender. He limped and still was supposed to work around the home. He still was supposed to pretend to be a good son and sometimes, the teenager would crumple in his bed and collapse and cry. He wished that life was different. He knew why his father hated him.

He had Crowley's eyes; he hated his eyes. He had Crowley's smile; he hated his smile.

\---

As Gavin walked down the streets, head down, he was pulled between two buildings. It was Crowley. He stared at Gavin, dark eyes wide, a frown on his face. Crowley held the teenager close and babbled, "He was right."

Gavin pushed the man off of him.

"I thought I could fix it on my own."

"Fix it? You  _ ruined  _ everything!" Gavin was angry.

"I can still fix it. He said he could fix it for me if only I asked." Crowley said softly, almost distractedly. He left, leaving Gavin breathless and angry.

\---

When Gavin came home, he saw his father was missing. Probably at the tavern again. He sighed.

But his father didn't come home that night nor did anybody tell him to come and pick him up. And Gavin ate cold leftovers and did his chores as he was trained to. It wasn't the first time that his father had gone missing. Sometimes, Gavin wished Fergus just never came home.

\---

Nearly a week later, he heard a knock on the door. He opened it to see his father. Except his skin was clear and his eyes were bright. Fergus stood tall and straight, with good posture. He stood like a king, regal and powerful. But he was just a drunkard of a tailor or at least was supposed to be.

Fergus came in and started rearranging the house, purposeful in the way he was moving. He was looking for something.

"What are you doing, Pa?"

"Oh, a little of this. A bit of that. You probably wouldn't understand." The way he spoke made Gavin feel like this man thought little of him.

"Are you sober?" The teenager asked.

Fergus shrugged. "Probably. I know I haven't had a drink for a while." He squatted to the ground and found a little box. It was one that Gavin had made a long time ago. "This one looks good enough." He dumped all of the things in it onto the floor. Gavin's things.

"Pa! That's mine!" Gavin cried out. He picked up the precious things. A coin that Crowley had given him. A toy that his father had bought for him a long time ago when he was yet a child. Mementos from a happier time.

"It's just rubbish, child." He tilted his head, glancing at the coin. "Hmm, I've never seen a coin like this before."

"Sure you have, it's one of Crowley's!"

And Fergus laughed. "I forgot that he was wearing that name." He picked it up. "But you don't understand, as I've said. I know all of the coins from all of the world. There are countries that use shells as money, too. It's not always metal coins. But, I do prefer the bartering system. A favor for a favor. A little tit for tat. Some  _ quid pro quo _ ." These were not his father's words; Fergus had changed.

He looked up to Gavin. "Here boy, you can keep your precious coin. I'd explain, but I can't be bothered, you'll figure it all out in time, anyways." He tossed the coin to the teenager.

Gavin caught it. He had always dreamed of his father sobering up and then he'd get the loving father back from when he was a child, but this man was a jerk. Sober and a complete asshole. Gavin threw the coin against Fergus's back as hard as he could.

"You stupid child," he said. He raised his hand and saw that Gavin shrank back. Instead of striking him, Fergus carefully touched the boy on his face and stroked his jaw, forcing the boy to look up at him. And Gavin studied his father's light colored eyes, his auburn hair. Gavin wished that he inherited his father's eye and hair color. To prove that he was his son. Then perhaps none of this would have happened.

"I can kill you for your insolence," Fergus said softly. "I've killed greater men for lesser things." The threat in his voice made the hairs on the back of Gavin's neck rise. He feared his father in a way he hadn't before.

Fergus smiled. "You know I really see it now. Time is such an odd thing." He held Gavin's head still with both hands and kissed him deeply and passionately like a lover. Gavin protested the entire time, wanting to get himself away from the incestuous kiss. And then, Fergus released the teenager. Gavin pushed away from his father, who was laughing at how flustered the boy was.

"Oh, it's just a kiss. It's not like we're married." Fergus said as he picked up the wooden box and headed out of the door, leaving his son behind again.

\---

When his father was an insufferable, abusive drunk, it was almost better. Because now, Gavin could see that Fergus would never be the loving father again. The one who laughed and ruffled his hair. Even if he stank like he had been soaked in alcohol, at least he loved the boy. He remembered that year that Crowley lived with him, though the memories were faded. Tears stung in his eyes. Sometimes, that year felt like a dream because it wasn't much longer after that when his father grew cold and abusive. And now? Gavin might as well have been living with a monster.

\---

Fergus came into the house, barely acknowledging his son. He had a black cat hanging limply from one hand and had a sharp knife in the other hand. He hadn't been doing any tailoring lately, not since the night he kissed Gavin.

He knocked the supper that Gavin had prepared off of the table, sending the vegetables and bowls onto the floor, making a mess. He plopped the cat on the tabletop and then started cutting into it.

"Pa!" Gavin said.

Fergus glanced up, "You really want to get between a man with a knife and his pussy?" His light colored eyes held a note of challenge in them.

Gavin backed away slowly, reading the situation. He retreated to the straw mattress, praying to God that he could be saved from his father.

When his father left, Gavin came back out to clean up the mess, but instead his stomach turned at the sight of the mutilated cat. He crossed himself, not knowing what else he should do. The image of it plagued his nightmares.

\---

Gavin was leaving. He packed his things up, collecting every bit of money in their house--which wasn't much.

Fergus came back, feeling quite satisfied with himself. "You're finally packing up your things?" He asked as he took off his shoes. There was a noticeable bulge in his trousers. He grinned when he saw Gavin's eyes studying it. "Jealous? It's obscenely long now. Thick, too."

Gavin scoffed, disgusted. He wondered what happened to Fergus. How he had changed so much into this terrible human being.

"Wait, Gavin," his father said.

Gavin stopped, having been raised into the habit of obedience.

"A gift for my son," Fergus said, handing Gavin a book.

"I can't read,  _ father,"  _ he said the word like it was a curse. He pushed the book back to Fergus. "You never sent me to school."

"Funny, I could have sworn you did read," Gavin heard his father say as he headed out.

\---

Gavin lived quietly on his own for the next ten years. He worked as a fisherman for that time. He smelled of fish and the sea. His body was lean and hard. Some nights, when he had extra money, he'd hire a woman to sleep with him. Tonight, her name was Caoimhe.

She was everything he liked in a girl: Voluptuous, with light colored hair and dark eyes. She had a clear, sweet voice, and despite being practiced in the art of seduction, acted demure and inexperienced for Gavin. He knew it was all for play, but it still excited him to school her in the art of lovemaking. She let him touch him until she quivered and she shyly nuzzled into him like a virgin creature, still untouched. They giggled in their debauchery and when it came to the actual act, all of her experience came to the fore. She rode him on top, staring down with hooded eyes, a knowing smile on her face. 

The nights like these usually blurred together in Gavin's memory. Girls were girls. He thought only of his own pleasure, but this night, he remembered. The morning after usually were all the same as well, but this morning was different. Caoimhe was different than most prostitutes he had paid for.

She had already put her clothes back on and was braiding her hair. "You're awake," she said to Gavin without turning her head.

As a response, he hummed dreamily.

She finished up her braids and then stood up, patting her dress down to smooth the wrinkles out. "Fergus died last week."

Gavin looked confused.

"He died," she repeated, "He said you'd like to know."

Then, Gavin felt betrayed. "My father?"

"Hmmm," she said. "Oh, don't you worry that little head of yours. I don't particularly like the guy. And he wasn't  _ technically  _ your father."

Gavin wondered if she had heard of the rumors of his being Crowley's son. That his real father, Fergus got cuckolded. He looked shamefully to his feet; he was a bastard. He turned around to put his clothes on.

"Those scars on your back?" Caoimhe asked.

Gavin automatically touched the one on his shoulder blade. His father had put them there in his drunken rages when he was younger.

"Crowley would never do that to you, y'know," the woman said.

"You know him?"

She shrugged dismissively. "I know him well enough. I owed him a favor."

"Then tell me why he did it! Tell me why would he do this to me. If he just stayed out and didn't meddle..."

"It had nothing to do with you, sweetpea," Caoimhe said, reaching for Gavin's face. Her dark eyes were bright, inquisitive, earnest. "He just needed to lie a little for once." She patted him twice on the cheek and then started to leave.

"Caoimhe…"

"Go somewhere, Gavin. Make something of yourself," she said and then she left the little house that he had made for himself.

The next day, Gavin headed back to his home town.

\---

It took nearly a week before he arrived in his home town again to bury his father. He was recognized. People waved and seemed kind enough. He noted that they were actually mourning his father. Had he changed his reputation in the ten years he had been gone? He went to the old plot of land he and his father used to live in together when he was growing up. The house had had all of its flaws repaired, and the rooms expanded. The signage told Gavin that his father had continued his livelihood as a tailor, but was extremely successful.

Gavin entered the house. And it was like walking through a memory. It was neat and the rooms were in the same place, though Fergus had added more rooms over the years. Gavin saw the collection of the glass bottles of alcohol sparkling on top of the well-stocked bookcases and he wondered when his father had learned to read. He saw the earthenware dishes stacked neatly in the cupboards. Though everything was covered with a fine layer of dust, there was a cultured appearance to his father's home.

"It isn't fair!" he said as he opened the cupboards and threw the dishes onto the ground so hard that they shattered. He tossed the books on the floor. Then, Gavin picked up a bottle of alcohol, only to find it was mostly full. He huffed in frustration and undid the top and guzzled it down.

It reminded him of the first day his father had him drink. All fire down his gullet. Whatever it was, it was too strong to really appreciate it as a drink. It was just something to make a man drunk. Gavin drank from that bottle until he couldn't hold it anymore and vomited all over the floor.

\---

There were a few things that Gavin took from the house to his new temporary place in Leith. He took just the valuable things. The family's signet ring. Money--whatever he could find. He sold everything that was new and used the money to help a man buy a ship and head to the new world. He had gotten some new clothes as well. He glanced at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall. He had grown up. He had curly dark hair and he couldn't help but smile his easy smile. Crowley's smile, he thought to himself with disdain. He looked so much like that man. Was there really any doubt he was anybody else's son?

He stayed at the house of a man who was also going to overseas. His name was Lewis. Together, they were headed for new life in the new world. And past that? He had no clue what he would do. Perhaps settle in America. Maybe go back to sailing. Things were looking up. Lewis's enthusiasm buoyed him into staying on task rather than running away from it.

Gavin and Lewis spent the days readying the ship along with the rest of the crew.

\---

It was the night before he was going to set off on his journey. He liked thinking of it as some big, wonderful world-changing trip. He was taking a leap of faith going out to America and he was only a little ashamed that it wasn't until his father's death that he was brave enough to move on and make something of himself.

Perhaps he'd get a wife for himself, though he wondered what woman could love a self-loathing bastard like himself.

He took a swig from the flask he had before he tucked it into his bag. He sighed and peered out of the window at the full moon.  _ Tomorrow  _ , he thought to himself.  _ I'm headed for a new world.  _ For the first time in a long time, he was feeling optimistic.

But then, he heard a strange noise outside of the door of his bedroom. He turned himself around and saw bright lights shining underneath the door. Unnatural. The candles that illuminated his room danced despite there being no wind. He started moving closer to the door, face slackened in surprise.

The door flew open with a bright flash of light. When the light died down, a red-haired woman stood in the threshold. She wore strange clothes--the likes of which he had never seen before: tight fitting and with a black leather jacket over top. "What's that you say?" she said in an unfamiliar accent. "Come in? Don't mind if I do." She sauntered in, brimming with a brash confidence that Gavin had never seen a woman wear in his entire life. The door slammed behind her without her touching it at all. There was some unseen, devilish force in here. It filled Gavin with fear.

"Who are you?" Gavin asked, his voice touched with panic. He saw that she had started drawing something on his door. "What do you want?"

She turned her head. "Friend of the family. And I want  _ you." _

Gavin had had enough of this. Unexplainable things kept happening in his life: The mysterious stranger who came into his childhood, the sudden change in his father into a psychopath, and now this red-haired woman was here. "I have no idea who you are. But you'll be taking your leave now. Thank you." He couldn't squeeze the fear out of his voice.

The strange woman stopped whatever she was doing to the door and turned to face Gavin. "Yes. You're packing. Sailing for the colonies. I know all about it. Change of plans." She walked up to him, putting down the object that she used to paint the sigil on the door, and put her hands on his face.

And just then, Lewis came into the room. He saw the bright-haired woman and looked to Gavin, "Ooh. What's this, then? Are we having a party?"

The woman turned towards Lewis and laughed darkly. "Yes. A farewell party." Then, she raised her hand up. The same mysterious force that had shut the door a few minutes earlier flung Lewis against the wall and into a peg. He was impaled through his neck and when he tried to scream out, blood gurgled out of the wound. Gavin crossed himself. Was he next?

She placed her hands on his face and started chanting a spell. The sigil she had painted on the door began to glow. And the next thing that Gavin knew, he surely was not in Leith, Scotland anymore.


	2. A Demon Named Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some speech quoted from episode 9.21 King of the Damned. I hope you enjoy this plot development.

 

***

Gavin suddenly appeared in a room of dark wood and strange objects. He heard the voice of the woman who had taken him from Leith and saw the back of her head. She was sitting in a chair. Without looking at him, she said, "Gavin, honey, say hello to daddy." She gestured to the other man, standing in the middle of the room.

The man she indicated looked confused, concerned. He looked at Gavin, who was still too dumbstruck to speak. He felt like he had had his insides stirred up, his heart beating quickly. He was still getting his bearings from whatever spell the mysterious woman had done to him.

"How did you--" the man asked.

"I know a spell or two, Crowley," the woman said smugly.

Gavin recognized that name, but this man was not Crowley. He looked nothing like the man in his childhood. This man was short. His hair was thinning. Though his eyes and hair were dark, he distinctly remembered that the Crowley who had been in his house hair had a curl to it. This man's hair was straight.

This Crowley tried to play things casually as he spoke to the woman, "Are you mad? This is your big card? The boy and I loathe each other." He gestured between Gavin and himself to emphasize the point, "I made it clear in the past--I don't care what happens to the little bugger," he said. Gavin was so confused, trying to figure out what was going on.

"No. But that was before... Wasn't it? See, I know all about your little problem--bingeing on blood, going right to the edge of being human--all of those human feelings," the woman said. And Gavin could see that whoever she was, she was not Crowley's friend.

"I'm clean," Crowley said.

"And I'm willing to bet that there's a smidgen of humanity in there somewhere," she said.

"Not a chance."

The woman gestured vaguely and Gavin felt a sharp pain in his eyes. He covered his hands over his face, and as he did so, he felt the wet warmth of his own blood and saw the red on his fingers. Then everything went black. "I'm blind!" Gavin screamed.

There was so much blood. He could hear Crowley was talking, but not what he was saying over his own screams. "I beg of you." Gavin hoped that this was simply a horrific dream. That tomorrow, he'd wake up and start his journey to America. "No! Please!" Gavin was cried out. How could he be bleeding this much? This couldn't be real. "I beg you, please!"

And then, it was over. Gavin thought he had died.

\---

Gavin woke up alone, still sticky with blood. He found a rag near him and used it to wipe his face. He sat up, confused and looked around himself. He definitely was no longer blind. This house was so strange, unlike anything he had ever seen before. He saw Crowley, the woman, and another man in a suit in the room with him. He took nearly a half an hour trying to collect himself, but all he could think was that he didn't belong here.

The woman glanced idly to him, still in the chair. He saw now that she had a drink in her hand. "Well, what do you have to say to your father?" She smirked and sipped at her drink.

Gavin went back to wiping his face. He did not want to say anything to his father because this man was surely not his Pa. He had no clue who he was.

 _"You_ are not my father," Gavin said.

Crowley was now sitting in the couch across from the woman. He leaned on the armrest with his thumb pensively against his lips as he watched Gavin. He said nothing to the man who was apparently his son. With certainty, Gavin said, "My father was Fergus MacLeod, a simple tailor."

No reaction. Gavin came closer to him. "A drunk. A monster." Gavin almost hoped that this truly was his Pa, somehow. If it was, that meant that he could have stood up to him, face to face, told him how much he hated him with the honesty he deserved to bare.

"Sounds about right," the woman said and then smiled at Crowley, whose expression remained hard to read.

Gavin was still so confused. "He looked nothing like you, and I buried him."

Finally, Crowley reacted. He removed his hand from his mouth. "A lot can change in 291 years."

"What?" The word barely came out of Gavin. _Two hundred ninety-one years? That was impossible._

Crowley took off the lampshade from the light next to him, gestured for Gavin to watch him. He then turned the light off. And then turned it back on. His expression was bored _ta-da_. And he looked back to Gavin, eyebrows raised. _See?_

Gavin walked up to the lamp and touched it. It was hot. He looked back to Crowley. "Can you cook a pigeon on that?"

"Not terribly quick is he?" the woman said.

She used her telekinesis to open the window and reveal the world to Gavin. He saw the buildings with their bright windows. It looked like nothing he had ever seen before. The sound of cars in the streets below made the world seem so much louder now as well. A siren from an emergency vehicle wailed. "Oh my." He leaned out to take in all of the sights. "Holy mother of God! We're amongst the stars! Are we in heaven, then?" He turned around. "You must be angels!"

Both this Crowley and the woman said, flatly, "Wow."

\---

Gavin couldn't have been more wrong. Crowley, this Crowley, at least, had been a demon! "You sold your soul?! Sold it?! For an extra three inches of willy?! I can't be consorting with a demon!"

"Not just any demon," Crowley said, clapping Gavin on the back. "I'm the king--the king of Hell! And there you were, worried the old man wouldn't amount to much."

Gavin never would he have thought that his father was the devil himself, but here it was, true.

"Why do you hate me?" Crowley asked.

 _"Why do I hate you?"_ Gavin echoed in a tone of disbelief.

"I mean, I beat you, starved you, came home drunk, beat you some more, woke up hungover, and, yeah, I beat you. In all fairness, I didn't really have any role models. My mother was a witch!"

Gavin had pain in his expression. In his voice. "I grew up thinking--knowing I was nothing. Less than nothing! You worked me harder than the horse! You never let me go to school. To this day, I can't read!"

And just then, it looked as if Crowley had just realized something. "It's overrated. Most of Europe couldn't read. You want to read?" He touched Gavin's forehead. "Read." He handed Gavin a newspaper.

Gavin's eyes looked at the printed words and he _understood them._ Except it seemed like the sentences were nonsense, as he was perusing the sports column. "...I can read."

"King of Hell. Plenty of perks."

It was the second time that Crowley said he was the King of Hell. Gavin asked, "So... If you're a king... that would make me... Prince?"

"And you say I've never given you anything. A title!"

Gavin didn't know who his father really was. Between the drunk who beat him and the deadbeat, he knew he wanted neither man as his father. And he surely didn't really want this Crowley either. He looked to the King of Hell and asked, "And if I was to accept you as my father, you could keep me from eternally burning in hell? No matter my sins?"

Crowley smiled knowingly, and, with soft pride for the man in front of him, said. "You're negotiating with me?" He chuckled warmly. "That's my boy."

Gavin saw that whoever this Crowley really was, he cared for him. Somehow, Gavin had the devil himself caring about him and he didn't even know how that was possible. "This might work out. For the first time in my entire life, I can see possibilities, a future... Just as soon as you take me back to my own time and I can board that ship for the new world."

Crowley smiled sadly as if he thought Gavin a poor fool.

"What is it?" Gavin asked, curious.

"It's not important," the demon said. He turned his head towards the guard who was watching them. "You can tell Abaddon I'm ready for that chat."

And then Crowley left Gavin alone. Once again, Gavin felt like a dead leaf pulled along by the current of a river. He had no idea where he was headed, all he knew was that the forces here thought he was much too small. He had been used as a tool, as leverage, to get Crowley to do as Abaddon pleased. And he didn't very much like that role.

\---

Crowley emerged from the room, looking pleased with himself.

"What did you do?" Gavin asked.

The King of Hell smiled. "A history lesson."

Gavin's eyebrows drew together, confused.

"See, she asked me how _I,_ out of all the demons, became the King of Hell. So, I told her," Crowley said. He snapped his fingers and they were out of the room and then they were in a forest clearing. "There's more to power than who can hit the hardest with the biggest stick."

The teleporting made his stomach flip, but Gavin quickly regained his wits about him. It felt surreal to learn that his father had become the Devil himself. And somehow, as a demon, showed more concern for him than ever before. It was too strange. The man wanted to go back to how things were before.

"Take me to the ship."

"Your ship goes down, boy."

Gavin deflated. "The ship went down? Well, that's a good fit with the rest of my life." He sighed.

"Mustn't snivel, Gavin. It might fit the old life. This one could be different."

"I don't know the first thing about the 21st century!" The sights he had seen in that small room told him that the world had changed completely.

"You'll be fine. Just avoid cheap whisky and cheap hookers. Look at me, getting all fatherly." Crowley smiled fondly.

"So this is goodbye, then?"

"Yes, forever. For me at least." Crowley shrugged and started walking away. Then he stopped and turned around. "Actually, I have one more thing. Remember that gift I tried to give you a long time ago?"

Gavin simply looked confused.

Crowley sighed, a bit irked. He rolled his eyes and then pulled out a journal, which looked brand-new, and handed it to Gavin. "A gift. This time, you can read it."

Gavin numbly took it. He couldn't believe that after all of these years, his father could show paternal concern for him. It almost seemed like a betrayal. "Are you really my father?"

"Goodbye, Gavin," Crowley repeated and then disappeared with another snap of his fingers.

Gavin stood dumbly for a few seconds before he opened up the journal. His eyes scanned the page. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about it.

 

_My life had become so strange. It didn't feel like my life anymore. So, today, I decided to take my first step forward._

 

_I saw something interesting today. I saw a bird. I approached him, wanting to fix his wing. And then, I realized that even birds can lie._

 

_I walked until I found the black river and a good samaritan found me. He allowed me to ride his red horse until my next stop. He asked me where I was headed. He told me he could tell I wasn't from around here. I was like a foreigner, in a strange land. I told him that I was trying to start anew. I think he found pity in my predicament. So, he gave me a bite to eat and stories, but I didn't share him mine. I suffered through many strange things and wasn't even sure about what had happened in my life thus far. I only agreed with what he said and thanked him for his stories._

 

Gavin shut the book. It was such a strange gift, but he kept it with him. He took his first step forward, just like the one who wrote the journal did.

\---

He walked and walked and something caught his eye. A brown bird, two stripes on the neck, and with a white belly. Its wing was broken and the bird limped, wing dragging, moving as if it were in pain. Gavin neared it, curious about the creature, as didn't he just read about the same thing happening a few minutes earlier? He followed the bird slowly. It limped away from him. And after he followed it a good ways, the bird opened its wings and fluttered away. _Even birds lie._

Gavin stopped and pulled out the journal that Crowley had given him, marveling. Did the journal tell the future? Did Crowley write it for him? So, he had to find a black river and a red horse. That seemed simple enough.

\---

Another hour of walking had Gavin thirsty and tired. And that was when he reached the road. The asphalt made a long black river in his mind and he wondered if he thought that because he had read the book or if he would have thought that before he opened its pages. He tentatively stepped on the road and found that it was hard, firm, and he didn't sink in. So it wasn't the river? He walked upon it, waiting for a horse that the book had suggested would appear, when a red car blazed by, horn blaring, and caused him to jump back.

"What monster was that?" he said, eyes rounded. He hadn't seen a car yet and just then an eighteen-wheeler was coming up the road. This was bigger, much bigger. It was terrifying. Gavin ran from the road, a good distance, but saw that it passed him, staying on the road in the same way as the car did. "They have rules," he noted. "Like ships cannot sail out of water." He walked alongside it.

Another three cars went by. And he walked until one of the cars slowed and just shattered the theory he had as it went so that two of the tires were well off the road. Gavin stopped short. He slowly approached it and saw that there was a silver horse emblem on the red car. And the words Ford on it as well. The smell of exhaust and gasoline was acrid to his nose. He had never smelled anything like it, not really.

"You getting in?" A man's voice said.

He startled. He hadn't expected the monster to talk. But then, he looked up and saw that there was a person _inside_ of it. A man. He opened his window and leaned out. "You look lost."

"I… I am."

And everything happened, just as the book predicted.

\---

Once Gavin was in Oak Bend, he followed the first few pages of the journal as a guide to a new life in the 21st century. Whoever wrote it seemed to understand it in a way that he could understand. It was the account of a man who decided, one day, to start his life anew and got a job cleaning rooms, stayed at the tavern, and he lived quietly. Though Gavin got a job as a waiter instead and lived in a motel room, he lived similarly to the man in the journal. He felt connected to the one who wrote the words in this book. Sometimes, he thought that whoever had written it walked a similar path. Whoever it was, he too had an abusive father, was stranded in a strange land, and without direction in his life save for the one that he made for himself. He worked alongside a woman at the Oak Bend Diner.

"What was it like in Scotland, Gavin?" she asked him. Her name was Gina.

He thought back to it and there were so many new things in this world that all that he could think was that Scotland felt so very far away, like it was a lifetime ago. "It was green," he said. "And fresh." He now lived in a world that was all sharp edges and starkness, even in Oak Bend.

"It sounds lovely," Gina replied.

But, he didn't miss how it used to be. Then, he had felt like he was the shit on the wheel of a cart, spinning only because he was attached to something much bigger than himself. Here, he was free to do as he pleased, unattached to the reputation of being a bastard (as it didn't seem to have the same connotations as it used to).

\---

He was reading the journal again, though in the library this time, where it was quiet. Much of the journal seemed to be the wanderings of a curious mind. It had only been the first few entries that outlined how best to start a brand new life.

 

_Sometimes, I wonder who my father is. Three versions of him. Father, monster, and stranger. Which was his true nature? Could they all be?_

 

Gavin perused the pages again. He would often sit back and reread the journal. This entry was particularly interesting, it posed a great what if.

 

_I saw a boy and his father at the cemetery. I could see that there was something there, something broken between them. I couldn't sit and do nothing._

 

_I often wondered what I would have done if I was given the opportunity to change things. If I could go back and teach my father to be gentle and proud of me. Would I still be myself? At least, I would have saved the boy I was._

 

And he pondered. If it were possible, would he take that opportunity?

\---

Gavin made some friends in Oak Bend. He found his way back to fishing and was fishing with one of the townspeople, Louis. The man was a wide, short man, with a bright expression and a bray of a laugh. He cast his line and eyed Gavin, who had just a pole that he had made. Nothing more than a stick and a string. "You expect to catch anything with that?"

Louis's rod looked like a confusing mess to Gavin, but he cast the rod and it sang and went far, towards the center of the lake. They started to fish and Gavin proved he was more skillful despite having the more primitive rod.

"I was a fisherman once," Gavin explained. His Scottish brogue always sounded out of place in this little suburban town.

"Ah, you know, Gav, we don't know much about you."

The thin man just shrugged. His dark eyes on the water. He had caught another fish on his line and brought it to shore. He put with the rest of their catch. "Not much to tell. I grew up in Scotland. I became a fisherman. I was going to take a boat to America. But I ended up, hmmm."

"Flying here, right?"

Gavin nodded. That sounded almost believable. "I was going to go with a friend of mine. His name was Lewis. You remind me of him."

"Same name and everything!" Louis said with a laugh.

\---

After they were done, they gutted and cooked their fish. It was midday when Gavin saw a man and his child.

"Something wrong Gavin?"

Louis followed his friend's gaze to where there was a man trying to fish with his boy. The boy's hands were nervous and when he cast his rod, he had thrown it accidentally into the lake. His father looked as if he were angry. There was no violence exchanged, but Gavin knew what that fear looked like. Later, the boy would meet his father's wrath. From this far away, Gavin could see it.

The father yelled at his boy. Gavin looked to Louis, to gauge his reaction. "Oughtn't we do something?"

Louis shrugged. "We keep our noses out of other people's business. Besides, it's not like he is beating the boy."

And, as much ire the father had for the son's mistake, he did not resort to hitting him, in public at least. And so, Gavin stood down. He regretted it. He believed that the author of the journal would have done something.

If there was one thing Gavin was sure of, it was that the boy _had_ been beaten. That night, he prayed for forgiveness after he spent all of his money on Craig. He put them all in his satchel and carried them back to his motel room. After all, his father's only word of advice was to never buy cheap whisky or cheap hookers. Tonight, it sounded like good advice.

\---

Gavin had fallen asleep in the sitting chair with a bottle of scotch whisky in his hand, and his satchel still on his shoulder. It was storming that night. Lightning would flash and the thunder would roll and he was sleeping like a baby through it, too drunk to care.

He startled awake because he felt the presence of something in the room with him. Like someone was watching him. He looked around and, at first saw nothing, until the lightning lit up the sky and he saw a silhouette in the room. It was a man. And behind him were wings. The angel carried a coat that was folded over one arm.

Gavin knew that the stranger was an angel. If demons exist, then angels must. Gavin crossed himself. "Why are you here for me?" he asked.

"You prayed," the angel said. His voice was rougher and deeper than Gavin expected. "And I was the only one who could answer it."

"But I'm the Devil's Son!"

The angel tilted his head in a distinctly avian manner. His eyes seemed to pierce Gavin's own soul. "You are the son of a tailor. Nothing more," he observed. "You should go back," he said. "We shouldn't have things running around outside their time. And now, I'm the only one who can fix something like this." The wings behind the angel shifted as he opened them. They filled the room. The angel didn't appear to enjoy them, glancing back with a sad expression.

He reached to Gavin and flapped his wings. The air moved in the room, lifting loose papers, knocking dishes off of the counter, and scattering the trinkets and junk that Gavin had collected. It felt like his stomach was flipping over and the next thing that Gavin knew, he was no longer in his motel room. He and this angel were in a field. The air smelled like Scotland. Fresh and open and green. Gavin could never forget that smell and when he was back, he realized how homesick he had become.

He noticed the angel looking at his wing again.

"Is something wrong with it?" Gavin asked.

Those sad, blue eyes met his. _Of course something's wrong with them,_ those eyes seemed to say _._ Gavin reached to touch the feathered limb, thinking that perhaps it had been sprained or something, but the angel stepped back. He flapped his wings and then was gone. So, he was back in Scotland, probably at the time he left, which meant that he had nothing here. The demon Crowley shared that the ship he was going to take would sink. So, what was he supposed to do?

\---

Gavin sighed and walked for miles, having learned in his life that the best way to deal with the strange things that happened in his life was to move forward. He walked until he came across a river. It ran quickly and was so dark, it looked black. He wondered if consulting the journal would help. He pulled it out.

Before he could read an entry, he heard the snort of an ornery horse. When Gavin turned his head, he saw the chestnut horse was slowing to a stop. A farmer sat in the driver's seat. "Where'd you come from and where're you going?"

"How far are we from Leith?" Gavin asked.

The farmer laughed. "Ach, quite far. I can't ask my horse to take us there. It's quite the trip. How about I take you to the closest village?"

"That's fair," Gavin said as he climbed into the cart. "How much do I owe you?"

"Never mind that, my lad, God watches the good we do."

The farmer glanced down at the book that Gavin was still holding. "You aren't from around here, are you? Not many can read in these parts. And you're dressed strangely." Gavin glanced down at his dark jeans and his button-down shirt. He was wearing light hiking boots.

"No, not from around here. I'm starting over, you could say," Gavin echoed. Not wanting to explain about himself, he asked the farmer, "So have you always lived here?" And, like any good farmer, he started sharing every story he had. And Gavin listened.

The farmer took him to his farm, where Gavin stayed for his supper before he headed to town. But once he went into town, Gavin realized something.

This was the town in which he was born.


	3. A Man Named Fergus

***

Gavin found work at a tavern and that was also where he stayed for the time being. He didn't have much on him. He just had the clothes on his back and the journal and whatever money he had brought with him, though that money was useless now.

He earned an extra coin when he repaired one of the wobbly tables and decided to spend it at the bar in the tavern--not for the drink, but simply for the company. He got himself a beer and nursed it all night. As he got buzzed, he started looking at the faces here. None were familiar until he saw Fergus there, drinking alone. He could never forget what his father looked like. Red hair, light eyes. Thin and with a haunted expression. He had never seen his father without at least a shadow of that expression, except for that night he had come back after having disappeared for a week. Being older now, he could see how deep was the man's despair.

However, if Fergus was here, alive and a drunk, that meant that he hadn't been sent at the time he had been picked up at. He had been sent earlier. Gavin just had to determine when.

He watched Fergus drinking cheap whiskey to get drunk. And then, he left, leaving Gavin to sip on his beer until he finished. He glanced at the bartender. "So, do you know what his story was?" Gavin asked.

"Aye, his wife just died," the man said while wiping out a glass. "Lately, all he does is drink."

Gavin's eyes turned, lingering on the door. He wondered when Crowley would come. The Crowley who was the handsome, clever, dashing man who stayed with them for a year.

"So, why do you ask?"

"My life has become strange," Gavin said. "A tangled mess."

"Well, that's every bloke's life. You ain't lived until you've made a mess of your life."

Gavin took another sip of his beer. "Sounds about right." Though he thought that the man had no clue just how messed up his life had become. Here he was, waiting for a man who had yet to appear.

\---

Gavin fell into the habit of watching Fergus. It was strange watching him because there was this shard of hatred just lodged in his heart for the man. He kept telling himself that, at any moment, Fergus would stop looking wounded and pitiful, and turn into a monster that deserved to be abhorred.

Sometimes, he'd see his father through the window of his childhood home, trembling hands working the tailor's trade. He saw little Gavin, himself, but so much younger, the boy still wide-eyed and hopeful. The boy who still thought his father was the best dad in the world. He saw Fergus patiently teaching the child about how to be a tailor despite the boy's lack of skill in the craft.

All that Gavin could remember was his father using that lack of skill as proof that he was not his blood. But this Fergus looked like he might actually love the boy.

\---

Gavin went to the cemetery, where his mother was buried. He tried to remember his mother's face, but he had been so young when she had died that all he could recall was that his father said that he had her eyes. That he had her smile. Though, Gavin would come to learn he had Crowley's eyes and smile--the Crowley who had come to stay for that year a long time ago. He couldn't remember Crowley's features much. Only that they matched his own. He could remember the man, a dazzling, charming, intelligent man who seemed to know how to do everything. No wonder that Crowley left him when he was a born. Gavin had no charm, no money, and wasn't particularly intelligent or skilled.

And he saw Fergus holding little Gavin's hand as they headed into the cemetery. Fergus was still a little drunk, but you could tell that he went there with the intention of paying respect to his late wife. "You were too beautiful," he said, head bowed. "I never deserved a beauty like you, my sweet." He put his hand on his son's shoulder, who sniffed through his falling tears, but didn't say a word.

Fergus handed his son a flower, and the boy dutifully set it on the grave. Obedient.

From where he stood, Gavin was feeling more and more apprehensive. Surely, this was an alternative timeline. This was another world where Fergus loved his son and his son loved him back. But despite that love, the house was falling apart and Fergus's business was falling to pieces as he spent more on booze than food.

And then, Gavin realized that _he_ could prevent them from drifting apart. If Fergus never met Crowley, then he would never doubt his son's paternity, then perhaps _this_ Gavin would have a chance. He could do something.

\---

Fergus was back at the bar, drinking. Gavin was there as well, as usual. They had both gotten familiar to the other's presence. Usually, each minded their own glass and kept to himself. But this time, Gavin got up and sat beside Fergus.

It felt strange to sit beside a man who once tormented him, but this was before his character was so twisted that there was no redemption. Besides, Gavin had new resolve. He could set things right this time, give Fergus that second chance to be a good father.

Fergus lifted his head and gave the man a once-over.

"My name is…" Gavin couldn't very well give his own name. _Gavin MacLeod._ He was not a smart man, but he was smart enough to know that. Because he thought it was safe to do so, he said, "I'm Crowley." He was taking Crowley's place anyways.

"Fergus MacLeod," the other man said gruffly.

Gavin smiled. "I noticed we were crossing paths often and thought it'd be best if we got to meet. Perhaps we could be good friends."

They got to talking.

\---

It was easier to befriend Fergus than Gavin ever would have thought. They got along really well and, for the first time in over twenty years, he thought that Fergus might actually be a good person after all. Sure he was drunk, but he was still untouched by the bitterness and hatred that would plague him later in life. He was warm and laughed freely.

They raised their glasses to random things, but most of all, good alcohol and good women. Fergus always told stories about his work, about how lovely and faithful his wife was before she died, and what a good son he had. Gavin shared stories of his conquests in the bedroom and his being a fisherman and then a carpenter. About how he had traveled around the world. About how he had seen cities with tall buildings made of glass and light. "It looked like we were in the sky. It looked like I was in heaven!"

To that, Fergus laughed. "You always know how to tell a good story, Crowley. All I'm good for is being a tailor. All I know. All I was taught, but it's good work."

"I never was good at tailoring," Gavin admitted.

Fergus smiled and shook his head. "Never mind that, I could never be a good carpenter. My own house is falling apart. My poor boy gets cold when the chill blows through." He picked up his empty glass and looked disappointed that he had drank all the liquor. "He gets hungry, my boy does."

Whenever Fergus drank a bit too much, he always turned sentimental and morose. As if he had just realized how far he had fallen when he emptied his glass and ran out of money to fill it up again. He sighed as he stood up, stumbling a bit. It wasn't too long after that he walked home.

\---

Gavin invited Fergus to his room in the tavern. He took out a bottle of Craig, some scotch whisky. He poured a glass for himself and Fergus, who had become good friends. Surely, he had been a good influence on the man so far and that was why he had remained kind to his son.

"Fergus," Gavin said. "Before you get too much drink in you…"

The man looked up with tired eyes, but he'd postpone drinking for a good friend. "What is it, Crowley?"

Gavin smiled warmly, having gotten used to responding to that name by now. "I was thinking that a little room in a tavern isn't the proper place for a man to stay. I was wondering if there was any room in your home."

"Oh, it's a mess," Fergus said, swiping at the air dismissively.

"I can fix things up," Gavin replied brightly. "I really need the help. It'd be cheaper for me to stay at your home than here at the tavern."

And the red-haired man considered it before he finally agreed. "Well, if you say it'll help you, Crowley." And they raised their glasses to helping friends out. He let the taste of the Craig linger on his tongue. "This is the best whisky I've ever tasted."

"It's Craig," Gavin said. "My father's favorite." Whether the King of Hell was his father or Fergus or even the Crowley that he had replaced here, it was true. All three had favored this drink.

\---

Gavin followed after Fergus in a few days. He had his satchel with him, still full of Craig. And he knew that Fergus would have to introduce him to the young Gavin. "This is a friend of mine, Gavin. He has the best whisky in town," the father said to his son. The boy was shy, hiding his face, looking down at the ground. All that Gavin could wonder was if Fergus had already started beating him. But then, gently, the father explained to the boy, "His name is Crowley. He needs a place to stay."

Gavin lowered himself and looked at the boy. The boy's eyes were dark, just like his. So unlike his father's, which were lightly colored. "I am going to stay here awhile and fix the house. It's falling apart, isn't it?"

And the young boy nodded, not looking straight into Gavin's eyes.

He could barely remember being that shy and laughed as he put his hands on the boy's shoulders because he remembered he liked that contact when he was the child's age. "Your father tells me all about you. What a good son you are."

\---

Gavin had his own room in the MacLeod house. He would never have imagined living here again, having cut his ties to this place in what seemed like a lifetime ago. It made him feel like what he was doing was a big, noble thing.

He helped Fergus run the house. The tailor was barely functioning as an alcoholic. The man's hands would shake if he hadn't had enough. He would get irritable or he'd get sad or confused. And Gavin would clean up the messes he made. The boy got to play outside more, be a boy, and that made Gavin feel like what he was doing mattered. But as he did little chores, the boy would pop up. And he'd ask questions and want to learn.

Gavin himself couldn't help but teach such an eager student. They were working on the garden that they had grown together. Gavin teaching him how to weed and the importance of pulling it out as near the roots as you can.

"Where did you learn all of this?" the boy asked.

"Hmmm, someone taught me. Just as I'm teaching you..." He looked up at the sky. This felt familiar, like deja vu. And then, Gavin remembered.

He had once squatted where the boy squatted in the dirt, looking up at a man who he thought was the most handsome, intelligent, and interesting man that could ever exist. Instead, the boy just got him. Skinny, stupid, shitty Gavin. He was just wearing that other man's name.

"Crowley?" the boy asked, noticing the silence.

"Do you believe in God, Gavin?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, of course," the boy said as piously as a child could.

"How about the Devil?" he asked the child.

He thought of the Crowley from the future, the King of Hell. And he remembered that that demon seemed to know more than he let on. As if he knew what was going to happen here. He had to teach young Gavin how to escape his fate. He _had_ to.

The boy looked worried, and Gavin laughed to try to make the situation light again. "Never mind all that. Look at this." He held the boy's shoulders and turned him around. "The plants are filling out, turning into something. It's life. And it's your miracle that brought this. Your own two hands. You can change the world if you wanted. Don't forget it like I forgot it, Gavin."

"I won't forget, Crowley," the young boy promised him.

Satisfied, Gavin finished the weeding the garden with the boy.

\---

Gavin ripped one of his shirts that he purchased since moving here. Instead of having Fergus repair it, he asked him for a new one. He tried to get the boy involved, but the child showed little interest or skill in the task.

When, the father's hands were shaking too bad to take good measurements, so he got the boy to do it for him. And, as always, little Gavin was eager to help. Gavin took his shirt off and the boy came around behind him and paused. "You have many scars."

Gavin felt tears prickling his eyes and he fought them back. He had to be strong. Stoic. A man. He felt Gavin climb a chair and measure him across his shoulders and then step down.

The boy looked up at the man he knew as Crowley.

Finally, Gavin spoke up. "My own Pa was a terrible man. He beat me to an inch of my life every day and worked me to the bone."

His heart broke when he saw the boy's reaction. Surprise and disbelief. As if he couldn't imagine a father doing such a thing to his own son. Gavin reached forward and ruffled the boy's hair. "Your Pa is nothing like that." _And let's keep him that way._

\---

After a year of living in the home, all of the repairs were done, and they all felt like it was time to celebrate that. Gavin felt like celebrating not for the repairs but because he felt that he did a lot of good in this household. He changed the course of history. Surely. Fergus didn't drink as heavily. And he saw that younger Gavin had skills outside of tailoring. For example, he and the boy worked on a table for the kitchen.

Gavin smoothed his hand over the wood of the table. "Isn't this amazing? Gavin helped me with it." It was remarkably crafted and he had taught the boy all about joinery and how to work the wood. He glanced to little Gavin, who was washing dishes after the meal they had. One that he had cooked for them.

There was Craig on the table now, and Fergus drank his glass. "You've taken quite an interest in my son," he said. But one could see the pride he had for his boy, sitting at the table that he had helped to build.

"He's a good boy," Gavin said. "You've raised him well."

Fergus laughed. "This year, it feels like you were raising the boy." He turned to his son. "Gavin! Come here, Gavin!" The boy obediently went to his father, who mussed up the boy's hair and pulled him onto his lap. He kissed his son on the cheek. A tableau of a father's love. Gavin was sure that he had done well here. Though Fergus was buzzed on his drink, he was loving and regarded his son with a warmth that looked like it could never disappear.

"You get some, too!" Fergus pushed his glass of alcohol  towards the boy.

"Really, Pa?"

When young Gavin tasted it, he coughed and sputtered. Both adults were laughing. Fergus rubbed his son's back.

"He's a man now!"

Gavin applauded the boy's initiation into manhood. "Wonderful! How do you like the Craig, Gavin?"

The boy coughed before he answered in a strained voice, "It burns."

"That's how you know it's good, boy!" Fergus said merrily.

"You should put him to bed soon," Gavin said, rolling the remaining liquid in his cup thoughtfully.

Fergus nodded and then kissed his son. "Off to bed with you."

When young Gavin was safely away in his bed, Fergus went up to the man he knew as Crowley. "It has been about a year, hasn't it? Since you moved in with us."

Gavin nodded, still playing with the glass.

"I want to thank you Crowley, from the bottom of my heart," Fergus said. "I was… I was in a bad place. You were there to make sure the boy didn't get into trouble. You kept him busy, kept him learning. Helped the both of us. I think things are looking better, yeah?"

Gavin smiled warmly. "I'm happy I could help you and Gavin."

"Crowley," Fergus said. "Your father shouldn't have beat you. You've become a man that he should be proud of."

Gavin felt the tears in his eyes. Sometimes, he felt that it was unfair that this Gavin would have the good Fergus. Because this man was a great father underneath his flaws. He had just needed a little help and support. He had never seen him raise his hand against the boy. He had never seen him so much as raise his voice.

"Ah, but it's time you go," Fergus said. "A man has his pride, after all."

"Of course," Gavin said. He was confident that he had changed things.

\---

Gavin was fishing with the boy. He was glowing with pride. He had _fixed_ everything. Little Gavin was going to grow up with a loving father. Fergus would still love his son and his wife. And he had somehow kept the real Crowley away just by taking his place. His mind wasn't on the fish, but he still had had ten years of learning to be a fisherman and was good at it.

"I can't believe my Pa wants you to move out." Young Gavin sighed, pouting.

"Well, I think I've fixed things well enough. I did what I set out to do." He smiled as he stared at the dark, murky water below.

"What was it that you set out to do?" the boy asked.

"It's hard to say. My life has become quite strange, if I were to be honest," Gavin said. And it was an understatement. Here he was, helping to raise the boy he was, once upon a time.

"Strange how?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Gavin," he said, gently. "I wish I could stay here forever, but if your Pa wants me out, then that means it's time for me to leave. Your Pa loves you, right?"

"Yes," the boy answered meekly.

"And you love him?"

"Yes."

"Then everything is fine." Gavin smoothed his younger self's hair. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

And he felt confident when he said that.

\---

It was now time for farewell. Gavin walked up to Fergus and little Gavin. He knelt down to the boy first. "Promise me you won't forget the things I've taught you."

The boy nodded, dutifully, but looked sad. And Gavin realized that the child would have nothing to hold onto from him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. It was the Kentucky state quarter, with the horse on it. "Here, something to remember me by."

Little Gavin held the coin reverently. He was going to cherish it forever. Not throw it away like he himself did, so many years ago.

He stood himself back up and looked Fergus in the eye. "And you, Fergus, will take care of your son."

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" Fergus said.

Gavin went upstairs to retrieve his things and head out into Scotland. Hopefully to have his brand new start.

\---

As soon as Gavin came into his room, he felt a chill in his bones and then the suspicion that he was being watched. He turned and saw a man, dressed in black, sitting on his straw mattress. He wasn't very tall, but had a full head of hair and a squared jaw. He was handsome and looked well-to-do. Powerful. Self-assured. Confident. He was flipping through the journal that Gavin had, reading with interest.

"I heard a man had been wearing my name," the man said, he didn't even lift his eyes from the journal, engrossed in whatever it had to say. This confused Gavin, as it was the most mundane reading one could ever hope to come by.

"Crowley," Gavin guessed.

"God of honesty and transactions, at your service. Associated with deals, negotiations, bartering, promises, and all that buggery." He said, not looking up.

"A pagan god?" Gavin crossed himself.

Crowley smiled, shutting the book. "Among other things." He finally looked up at Gavin. "I've been watching you actually, as soon as you started using my name. What I could never understand was how you have my mark on you. It means I've made a deal with you already, child," the god explained haphazardly when he saw Gavin looking confused. "Have you met me yet? Made a deal with me?"

Gavin shook his head.

"I haven't met you in my life either," Crowley said. "And it's a long and storied life I've had." This Crowley lifted his chin in dominance. "Why are you here?"

"I… I was given the chance to fix the past."

The god shook his head. "If it's in the past, it's what is done and what is meant to be. That's all. I knew an angel once, in Mesopotamia. She told me about time travel because I had an interesting experience a long, long time ago." He paused. "If you don't mind me asking, what have you thought you fixed?"

" _You_ were supposed to come in here and live here for a year. And then, you being there… it made Fergus… It made my Pa think that I was a bastard! That my mother was a whore! And he…" Gavin's voice became soft. "He beat me. But I changed it all. He loves his son."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "If you say so. Now, you might have wondered why I haven't gone to send you back, quite yet. See, angels are quite adept at the whole time thing. I thought I would need a professional for this. And, don't I have just the angel and he has _finally_ freed up his schedule to help me out a bit." Crowley snapped his fingers and disappeared. Another second passed and Gavin felt that familiar feeling of his stomach flipping over as he was rushed through time again.

\---

Gavin sat on the dock of the familiar town he had grown up in. He had his satchel with him. He saw the god sitting, at the end of the dock, staring at the water. "Ah, so you've made it," Crowley said. "He said he sent you around this time, about here. I've been waiting for two bloody hours." He held up the journal. "Lucky for me, I took some reading material along."

At the sight of it, Gavin felt for his journal and couldn't find it.

"You took it?"

"Borrowed it," Crowley said. "It's interesting, this book." He pulled out his own copy and it looked as old as time itself, identical to the one that Gavin had. "I have my own. Time travel can be complicated."

Gavin huffed and then sat next to the pagan god.

"I've watched the boy grow up."

Gavin snapped his attention to the god. His posture straightened. "And? Is he alright?"

"Like I said: Time travel can be complicated."

"What do you mean?"

The god smiled sheepishly. "What if I told you that Gavin grew up to be you? That his father beat him? That he hates himself."

"Impossible," Gavin said. "But I took Crowley's place. _Your_ place."

Crowley looked over the water and tossed a coin in there. He snapped his finger, the coin appeared in his hand again, so that he could toss it back into the water. "I was never meant to play that part. That was always you, child."

"But Crowley was handsome and smart and tall and strong and I'm…"

The god laughed. "You were remembering yourself through a child's eyes."

"No. But Fergus loved his son."

"Until his son started growing up to look exactly like the mysterious stranger who took an interest in the boy for an unknown reason."

"No!" Gavin stood up.

Crowley chuckled. "Look, I could try to fix this bloody mess you've made if you asked me. To the best of my ability. I've already made the deal with you. Somehow."

"I don't believe you!" He ran into town to try to catch his younger self. He had to see it to believe it.

\---

Gavin found his young self heading to the market. He pulled him in between two buildings.

He stared at the younger Gavin, dark eyes wide, a frown on his face. He held the teenager close and babbled, "He was right."

The younger Gavin pushed him off of him with a shove.

"I thought I could fix it on my own," the older Gavin said.

"Fix it? You _ruined_ everything!"

"I can still fix it. He said he could fix it for me if only I asked," he said softly, almost distractedly. He left, sprinting as fast as he could to the dock.

\---

Gavin was agitated as he paced and breathed heavily. He was panicking. He _had_ ruined everything. He thought he could change things, but all he did was play into fate's hands. And to learn that he had single-handedly been the cause of his father's abuse due to confusing the paternity of the child and killing the sweet memory of the woman Fergus had loved--his mother. Everything Fergus loved had turned out to be a lie. Everything that Gavin did had done nothing but make the loving father turn into a monster.

The god materialized on the dock with a snap of his fingers. "Here I am, child," he said dryly. It was like he expected Gavin to come back.

"Fix it! Make it so that Gavin and his father love each other again."

Crowley sighed and looked long and hard at Gavin. "I cannot undo that which has already been done, but what I can do is stop Fergus from abusing the poor boy."

"Then do that! Anything can make it better."

He smiled. "Very well." He put his hand on Gavin's shoulder. "Before I begin, tell me if you figured out who your father is."

Gavin knew that he couldn't be his own father. He knew that this god Crowley couldn't be. And so, he gulped because the truth was there, as it had been, the entire time. "My father was Fergus MacLeod, a simple tailor." He had never been more sure in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this story. It had been a fun thing to write. Just an interesting theory fleshed out to what could have happened to Gavin and Fergus and Crowley. Now, there are HUGE differences because this goes with my main fic, [Awestruck](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7295455/chapters/16568689), but you can imagine where it would be tweaked to allow this to be Gavin's path in the show. I always love a good time travel plot, though I think this one was quite sad.


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